


Dwindling

by spiralSeeker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Sadstuck, lolwtf am i doing, that one post where everyone dies in order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralSeeker/pseuds/spiralSeeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the sadstuck post by lord-caliborn on tumblr. Like, loosely based off.</p>
<p>They were twelve coming back from the game, back to a reset and feeling invincible after the metric fuckton of Sgrub.<br/>But reset does mean no revivals either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwindling

They don’t die in order.  
This doesn’t please even Aradia, who should’ve been the first, by hemospectrum that is. You’re all back to somewhat normal, all the group alive and well back in something so like their planet. It even had culling drones, and that’s what got Karkat.  
You grit your fangs and swipe at your goggles, because you’re the Heiress. You, Feferi Peixes, could’ve well commanded the drones away from your leader- your friend even, despite neither of you being really close- but you didn’t.  
Didn’t know. Wasn’t able. Who cares. You’re back, been here barely six or so sweeps.  
And already, you’re one short.  
\----  
Now, you don’t react too much. Karkat was your leader, dear to all, but you weren’t that close.  
Sollux was though, and he’s barely moved from where you’ve buried him. That was quite a feat, requiring some careful breaking in and ‘royal orders’. You gave them, and Eridan backed you up quite heavily when you mentioned your heiress title. Drones aren’t exactly in the complete know of troll inheritance, so they obey you.  
You don’t have God tiers anymore, or Vriska and Aradia would’ve made a shorter job of this. As it is, they were an asset, cool heads to cheat time and fortune.  
You’d had a corpse party, and Aradia tried to gently ruffle you, ‘oh Feferi, you’re just too colorful for this. So bright and cheery Feferi, please don something…’. A swift change, from your most royal sea-colored skirt into one the color of marine twilight. And you check some old bounty Eridan brought you, removing some jewelry. Bright red, since in the end that was Karkat’s color. Bright blue, and you don’t regret it.  
Sollux leaves your entire attire matching the jewelry, bathing you in psionic light and a shuddering embrace. But he isn’t actually crying, gog dammit, this is all stupid anyways. I told you all, this was stupid, we were doomed.  
Somewhere, Nepeta wails. Terezi acts as an unstable support, both swaying in eerie rhythm as they lament. Sollux moans, curses the loud broads and their stupid theatrics, not like they can do anything.  
And somewhere else, Aradia reads some prayers, because that’s what happens at corpse parties. A welcome to the Handmaiden, whoever she is, and Eridan hollers loud enough at Sollux to make you forget to ask about that.  
“We weren’t doomed, you imbecile, and I’m the one who decides when there’s no hope-“  
“Yeah, Eridan, because you did such a great job the last time, idiot-“  
You pull Sollux away, and he’s bristling (Fef put me/him down, let me show him), psionic sparks cascading down your hair and reflecting off goggles you never took off.  
\----  
Karkat wears off. Slowly, but he does. Nepeta adds a mark on her wall paintings, to mark he’s dead. She’s also colored him in proper, with red rather than sooty grey and black. Terezi begins to wear more red along her teal, and Kanaya likes having her to try on new clothes, even if they’re mourning outfits and the jadeblood doesn’t really smile either.  
Huh. You’re pretty sure you did see them as moirails in Nepeta’s walls too. Wonder if that’s any sort of pale infidelity, or if it’s even a thing. You can never have too many friends.  
By the third sweep, everything seems back to normal. You come together frequently though, piling all together on some shore or the border of some wilderness. You miss some practice against your local fauna, but that’s fine. Usually, some of your friends also like a spar, and you need the training to take power.  
Gradually, Aradia stops sparring with you. Of course you notice, although in a weird way. She’s increasingly peppy, and increasingly drowsy. Aradia leans on Sollux very frequently, but ‘no Feferi, it’s just as… as…’ and you understand. She even lets Equius act as her supporting shoulder once in a while, when Sollux is out coddling his bee circuits and the indigoblood has freshly laundered towels.  
Such a cheery girl, you think of Aradia, and she agrees, chiming in that this is wonderful Feferi. I’m okay with this.  
I’m okay with this being as it is. Make sure it’s something I’d like.  
\----  
Aradia dies. Twelve sweeps. As expected, you hear Equius mumble between sobs of a sort. Nepeta gently pats at his back, makes some sort of purring noise. They’re words said very fast, because she knows Equius doesn’t like getting nagged in public, you’ll later learn, but Nepeta does nag him that no, you didn’t expect it.  
It’s okay to hurt over the death of a loved one, Equius, and you don’t care she was a rust, don’t you Feferi? See, no big deal. Equius, you didn’t expect it. Not so soon, not without your newest bots done and short a couple ingredients.  
Nepeta purrs, and you hum along with more psionics fizzing near your ears and the fins right underneath. You hum, you hear Sollux call everything stupid and Eridan, stop looking so smug, you feel crackles in the air.  
Steps, and you see the hem of a long cloak.  
“Ampora, I’m warning you-“  
“I won’t have a sniveling mess for a kismesis. Now put up an act Captor, show death’s little fangirl that it’s so much better on the living side of the world.”  
“Hypocritical much, doom fan-“  
“I’m the prince of-“  
“Stop. It’s her corpse party, she wouldn’t want a fight. And as your Heiress… as your friend, I mean, I ask you not to fight. Settle this some civilized way, like…”  
Two pairs of eyes looking at you, so wary. They’ll fight at the first chance you give them and you know it.  
“… strategy.” You don’t know why you end up saying it, but you like it. Eridan’s face lights up, and Sollux grins in such a weird way. Lopsided, and you can see the tip of a bifurcated tongue- it will be like running a program, he’ll confide to you later, like a game.  
“But not now. Now, we’ll go have fun at Aradia’s event, and…”  
“It’s a stupid idea, Fef, but fine. Eridan stays quiet and away, we’ll be fine.”  
You herd Sollux towards whoever won’t mind you, and stay there for a while.  
\----  
They have you for most of their competitions. You were the Witch of Life, after all, and like hell those were just titles.  
And if nothing else, you’re a fair lady for both of them. For all of them, when they’re feeling more grandiose (Eridan, always him), and Sollux gags a bit at that image. Nonetheless, he’s the one who’s managed to capture most of his victories on video.  
You are now bedecked in loot they’ve won from their captures and allotted to you. It’s part of their competition, you think when you care. So long as they’re available for when you wish to spar, you don’t mind.  
Eridan gets you a beautiful new 2x3dent. Sollux, some doodads to protect you. A dress one, a pendant the other.  
Both of them bring you news one day that Tavros had died.  
\----  
You get there in short order, the three of you using Eridan’s vessel. He had Sollux- or more like tried to have Sollux, you had to stop so many fights- scrub the place and himself to gleaming. And shoved what was, in Eridan’s words, more proper attire for a corpse party.  
Or actually riding his ship. You were never sure, but you had both of them clamoring that ‘Feferi, tell the other he’s being an insufferable prick/unrefined land-lubber’ half the trip. Or apologizing to you and half-jokingly pleading for you to put down your weapon.  
When you make landfall, they fall quiet. Both stretch an arm out to you, sober and somber. You’ve never realized the effect of near solid black on them, but now you do.  
Now you also realize Sollux’s hair isn’t exactly ebony either, the eyes are a deeper red-blue than when you were younger. You realize, and it’s like a tidal wave.  
Karkat. Aradia. Tavros. (Sollux.)  
“Feferi, it’s stupid to lean so much into me.” You note how Eridan’s quiet, tugging you slightly more into his shoulder but not bothering with a verbal addendum to Sollux’s phrase. “You’re taller, and you’ll get two prongs up your goggles.”  
\----  
Gamzee is rolling a bit on Tavros’s wheelchair, and at least this tells you he wasn’t culled. Culled trolls are heaped in with whatever got them culled- Karkat in a pool of crimson, at least that you remember- and he looks somehow comical, his overlong legs kicked far out or nearly catching the back end of the wheels. Kanaya is at his shoulder, keeping the wheelchair from overbalancing or whatever it is. Probably something Karkat asked of her, to keep his moirail in check. Who better than her, you think, from what you’ve heard she kept the remaining team somewhat coherent through the endgame.  
All eyes (but yours, and but Sollux’s) are glued to the grave, marked with an orange-brown stone. Dimly, Sollux mumbles that anyways it would’ve been stupid to have a grave. Most of us won’t have one and it’s a stupid thing to do around his hive, close to the wilds and way far fucking out. Vriska throws roll after roll of die, cursing all the while that Tavros was useless and he can’t leave like this, not even fighting and she expected so, so much of him.  
You should’ve fought Pupa, she says, you could’ve at least fled. I didn’t spend ages making your damn hive ramp-land for nothing, Vriska screams at the grave between rolls, eerie cobalt light limning her and the rocks, I didn’t spend the last dregs of your grist caches getting you rocket upgrade after rocket upgrade and I didn’t sit through all the mother grub awful Faygo-  
Long honks. A cascade of them, and sometime between Vriska’s tirade and Gamzee wailing off with his honks you let yourself into Sollux’s chest and sobbed his chest fuchsia.  
“Shoosh. Oh this is stupid, don’t sob on me, I’ll have to put up with your dumbass moirail and oh Feferi, shoosh. I’m here, now don’t make a show of it, save it for later. Shoosh, girl, you’ve kept something, we all have.”  
He’s awful at this consoling business, he tells you as he brushes back your hair and lets red-blue sparks trail magenta down your back. Or he picks up one of your locks and tries it on, deeming it stupid and anyways, Aradia’s hair did this better, was rough enough. And he rocks a little, rasping out something that does sound like ‘stupid feelings’ or ‘we’re all screwed’, but you don’t really mind, not by now.  
You’ll later realize Eridan ditched you, leaving a note with a much beleaguered Kanaya that he ‘had somefin to tend to, left the spare ship and don’t let Sollux sail. He’ll know if he did, somehow’.  
Sollux dutifully ignores the last part of the note, and takes the longest route possible to a strip of shore near his hive, because seriously Feferi, you should’ve considered the location of yours better. Not really good for having guests over unless they were sea dwellers like you, or your lovely cuttlefish and your fucking scary lusus.  
Both of you race indoors, eyes glued to the ground and hands held tightly together because it’s nearly dawn when you get there and the psionic is cursing Eridan for forgetting that extra energy or no, ships are really fucking heavy and therefore hard to psychically shove for long periods of time.  
And when you come to have a sense of time again, all wrapped up in cabling and gooey mind-honey scent, it’s near dawn again and Sollux is telling you (with quite a foul mouth) that if Eridan wants his spare ship back, he can come here and stuff it back into whichever nook he pulled it from. Be his fucking guest, and bring some of your stuff over too, Fef. You don’t look like you’ll haul yourself over to your hive at any rate.  
You got him calling you by your nickname (given to you by Eridan, but you’re not telling him) and now you’re halfway through getting him to agree that yes, you can bring one or two of your cuttlefish.  
\----  
You can’t shake the feeling that after Tavros it’s him. Not right now, and anyways you know psionics of any caste can be a bit more long-lived naturally,I’ll hold out well dumb fishy. Go cull your cuttlefish or something, Sollux appends and from some distance you hear Eridan agree (he ‘drove’ you here and decided to take some shots at the wildlife around, so different from sea fauna).  
You don’t do so. You ruffle his hair a bit, poke your fingers on his horns and feel the static surge. You’re the one I’m coddling today Sollux, you say as you sling an arm around him and up-you-go, Fef-let-me-down. A couple half-enthusiastic kicks in your general direction and then he stops minding your hefting him up in your arms, or that he’s stopped flipping Eridan off with both hands or that you’ve made him miss the bee feeding again Feferi for cod’s sake.  
You hold him closer and say that he has to teach you to do that.  
\----  
Some sweeps later, Sollux goes blind.  
It’s after Eridan docks his shipwreck hive near his hive, to keep him from screwing Feferi worse than he did or something. It’s after the bucket drones come and go. It’s after the first hive-computer he had finished its slow drying-up, the last bee buzzing off dead and the system melting after that.  
His eyes still fizz with psionic light, red and blue sparks. Sollux says he can see for a blink there, and you don’t look a day over whenever the game finished you cheater and anyways not aging is stupid. You’ll not beat any empress like that, even if now you’re mostly lean muscle and nowhere near as comfortable a cushion as before. And it’s no fun to try and shove Eridan off you if you can do it yourself, not that I can anyways but-  
“Shush Sol.”  
“Shut your trap and quit shocking me.”  
“Eridan-“  
The low drone of psionic energy and a faint smell of burnt air over the hiss Eridan makes. He withdraws his cloak from the huddle the three of them have made, offended… but he stays there.  
“You can’t even give me a good zap anymore Sol.”  
“That’s because you’re dumb and like ‘em strong.”  
A bit of silence, broken by the rustle of fabric as Eridan resettles himself, a bit more on your shoulder and Fef, move a bit so you stick one of your horns in his glasses, Fef ignore him.  
You could stay like this, with them saying something like good day with some garbled curses and falling asleep by your side.  
\----  
You don’t notice when Sollux passes, but you realize that it’s been a long time since you woke up to only your low internal temperature.  
His eyes are closed, and his hold on you is rigid but if you maneuver a bit you can remove yourself without damaging a thing. Sollux still wears your goggles- never took them off actually- and the lids underneath the clear crystals are closed. Eyes dim- you could tell when he was awake, the eyes would’ve dimly glowed- but not if you slithered out.  
Sollux would’ve felt that, and you leave a big stain of tyrian on his shirt, nearly hiding his sign, wracking sobs coursing through you.  
When Eridan wakes, he barely argues and complains, just a bit about now really having to get a new recuperacoon. But he does shiver in the morning air, a bit unaccustomed to a sea-dweller’s permanent chill and growls that Sollux had no right to leave them like that.  
An Empress’s consort can never leave before she does.  
\----  
You insist on a corpse party.  
Lowbloods don’t usually have them, and you don’t inquire just as to why everyone in your party has been lucky enough for one, for you also know most highbloods don’t get one either. You most probably will, an empress always gets a lavish one, and you supposed...  
Sollux wouldn’t have even complained that you wouldn’t have been an empress, he would’ve complained that it was stupid. Maybe less so than his, but stupid. How would you bury someone at sea, and Eridan you didn’t lay a single dumb fuck’s body, you fed them all to Vriska’s black-hole hunger mum.  
Eridan does complain, just a little. Sollux can’t have a burial, after all, he was your matesprit (oh cod, he’s said that out front) and like fuck he’s having everyone else on board his ship. Cats hate the sea, and her moirail would just as soon as sink the place by walking on top.  
Yet you persist on your idea, and now have to hear I’m sorry Feferi sung in a choir by the remains of your dwindling party.  
You’re stuck facing the small raft you arranged for him, decorated plainly. Amber-gold mostly, dotted with red and blue (and Tyrian and some violet) scales you culled from your cuttles, garish and loud and you can hear him complaining Feferi this is stupid, looks stupid and Aradia should’ve seen this. At your side, Eridan stands, Ahab’s crosshairs trained on the thing.  
(“Here it says it was traditional some fuck long ago, looks like it would’ve pissed him off enough to make it likeable”, and you’d blindly agreed, still wrapped by cold arms).  
You’d sobbed earlier for a bit, so now you’re not fully grieving, you can see.  
Kanaya tight in a huddle by Vriska and Terezi, a trio bound nearly at the shoulders and almost in lockstep. One bickers, one agrees and one does her usual role as some sort of auspistice, one bickers. Two bicker. Three bicker and smile and sob a bit when the other two aren’t really looking for a breath and then Vriska and Terezi say that we’re getting too emotional again Kanaya, what have you done now.  
Equius and Nepeta. The feline girl leans a bit more into him, but still has her loping step and feral grace. She says (more like purrs) she sprained an ankle, but she still brought something she’d hunted and she’s gotten Equius to stop being so uppity about castes. Finally, she breathes, and then bats a bit at his arm. Still playful, and you see Equius restrain her a bit when she sees the swarm of bees leave his hive. You see him act as a climbing post for her, so she can see the raft going off in the distance and hear Equius explain that well, it wouldn’t be so unexpected for the empress-to-be’s matesprit to have a Tyrian funeral, even if he was merely a gold-blood. That psionics used to guide ships, still do, so that one will reach a pleasant dream-bubble Nepeta, now stop glaring at me. I should still impart you with culture.  
Gamzee barely dropped in, a hello-sorry-honk-goodbye. But he did make a loud farewell racket, for the sake of old times with Karkat and hollering away on Pesterchum.  
And you see Eridan blast away at the raft, his rifle at full power and making it disappear into white science-light and floating shards of wood.  
\----  
You don’t exactly move back.  
Soon after Sollux goes, you redouble your efforts in training to defeat Her Condescension. Or whatever your empress is called in this other world of yours. You’ve cleared most of the wildlife surrounding what used to be Sollux’s and your hive. You’ve cleared the shortest route to your old hive near daily, and you’ve taken a liking to accompanying Eridan when he goes out to sea again.  
Sometimes, you see the ship Vriska captains, and she’ll holler on and invite all to her craft, Feferi, but tell your douche of a boy-frond to not shoot at anything here. Kanaya has quite the aim throwing things now, although she’s still mostly the young woman with the chainsaw. And Terezi likes to watch the seas from the crow’s nest, says the smells carry so well and it’s flying on dragon’s wings.  
Sometimes, you just fight some of the other gamblignants and assorted trolls who took to the seas with weapons. Maybe you’ll get Eridan to back you up, but most often you’ve told him not to. Maybe, when you’re with the other girls, you’ll team up against Eridan and see who racks up the best amount of kills.  
And one time, you all crash at a port town, swaggering and staggering drunk. Harass one of the landwellers, a cobalt-blood with long hair on only one side of her face, into giving you some mad inks and end up having the entire parlor waiting on you, Eridan insisting that the skinny yellowblood boy she kept as an assistant do him.  
There’s a bee with lightning-wave stripes now where your neck curves into your back, behind your neck fins, and at times you’ll feign you can’t remember why, when the Scourge Sisters make jokes about that. When you go clubbing a bit, dancing in some beach, or when you get them to spar with you.  
You never got around to asking what everyone got.   
\----  
Nepeta dies.  
Equius thinks that she’d prefer to be laid to rest in the wilderness near her hive, rather than have a fancy corpse party. She never was the most cultured one, he says curled up on the ground, but she did like her arts. At least he managed something with her, but…  
Next to him is something you recognize from your time in the meteor, a metal casing as long as a slightly tiny troll. Clearly feminine, clad in something a bit too fancy for Nepeta’s usual hunting gear and pelt, but eyes dimmed. Not awake, not living and you can somehow tell Equius came close, so very close.  
Her cave is still open, and you’re eerily pleased to see no young wriggler has tried to claim it. Her hive was fully underground, with this cave as an entrance and gallery of sorts. There’s a picture of Equius, holding her and framed by pale moirallegiance diamonds, nearly in full sight of the entrance. To be sure, the hand that painted it was a quivering one and the blood-paint is beginning to peel and fade a little, but there are chemicals strewn on the ground, something to preserve.  
You still end up dyeing Eridan’s cape at the shoulder a deep magenta, because her cave still has all the paintings from before, even the ones she’d done on the meteor and got a more fitting reprise. All the old faces are there, and some of the newer combinations line the walls too, and there’s a kettle still boiling with some tea or infusion or whatever she liked to drink.  
Equius also says she died mid-hunt, and it was fitting for the feline hunter, to fall in the thrill, but you can’t check his eyes under his shades and you don’t think you’re one to be trying that.  
You’re sure he tried to do his best for her then.  
\----  
You see the Scourge Sisters less often now. Maybe because they’ve been on a bit of a run from the ‘law’, avoiding the drones who wanted to take Kanaya into the Breeding Caves to watch over the Mother Grub she’d eventually managed to hatch.  
Then it was just being far away, one of them would tell you via chat, or Vriska finding treasure. Terezi finding just the perfect place to legislacerate, and having them stay there for a long while. Kanaya stocking them up again on goods or fabrics to make dresses and sails and bandages with. Then Vriska trying to go do a tour of the book her ancestor gave her, and having to share with the other girls.  
Terezi finding hers, and trying to do something similar, only on board a ship rather than a dragon but she’s still cooler than Serket there.  
And Kanaya…  
She’s both the best and the worst at keeping touch. Messages more constantly and, unlike Vriska or Terezi, her quirk hasn’t passed some event horizon for unintelligibility. But her talks sometimes veer to the banal, or takes too worried a tone, and Kanaya avoids giving straight answers.  
“You’re becoming such a sprite Kanaya!”  
A laugh, a bit like small waves. Everyone else you knew could laugh like the thunder or the mighty sea storms.  
“I guess I am. You’re well on route to becoming our Empress, aren’t you?”  
“Shush! It has to be a surprise!” It’s all the more dangerous if she knows the Tyrian seeking to challenge her is you, and not whoever may have wriggled out while… you don’t know, but there must’ve been someone.  
“I forgot, my apologies. Moirail hasn’t been giving you more problems than usual, hasn’t he?”  
“Eridan is just as melodramatic as he’s always been”, you sigh and share a laugh.  
“Tell him he better not squander time or care. And that I’ll be holding him to that quite specifically, I’ve gotten fairly accurate with this lipstick of mine.”  
“That’s more like something Terezi has gotten her scaly hands on! And I will Kanaya. Talk to you later!”  
\----  
You arrive to Vriska’s ship with a dress you’d received barely a couple weeks ago. Kanaya’s parting gift, or it said as much in the card attached. A beautiful gown, a battle raiment, a dress done in vibrant gold and veined with red, a couple blue accents. To remind you of everyone who stood with you, Feferi Peixes. She doesn’t sign with your future title, but with your name- it’s a bit too formal to be a gesture of friendship, but you expected that of her.  
Same as you expected the serene expression on her face. She also rests on a small raft, this one bedecked in glossy fabrics. And surprisingly, those in attendance are all finely dressed in some way. Terezi is in the FLARPing getup she once had, done up again after it frayed and ripped and washed out by the sea. Equius arrived looking dapper in something that held on to dryness. Gamzee wasn’t there, and you can’t fathom why, but you suppose it was something you’d missed in game.  
And Vriska is quiet by the raft, combing down a few strands of hair that had been blown askew by the wind. Kanaya glows faintly, something you later figure is something jadebloods can do, and the luminescence plays weirdly with Vriska leaning forwards. Lights up her eyes, the metal sheen of the arm she lost again sometime as a corsair again. Makes the color of the many little lines of the black gown she wears shift from cobalt to jade to teal and back, veins looping around and winking scarlet for a moment, then back to jade-cobalt-teal.  
Vriska leaves, and she glares at Eridan. One single shot, and she’ll shove him overboard herself. You hear the thrum of an alchemiter- and how in blazes Vriska still has one, let alone has anything to use it with, no one knows or will know- the click and whirr of items being generated from prime materials.  
She returns bearing gems of all colors. Sets of eight, so they’re copies of her dice or something. Vriska drops them, one by one like attacking rolls on Kanaya’s vehicle. Light bubbles and spreads, shrouding and shifting. It halts at cobalt, when Vriska has only eight remaining dice.  
“Everyone away now!”  
And she rolls, one last time, to send the body off to who knows where.  
\----  
Without Kanaya, everything goes slower.  
Equius was always awful at contacting his superiors (going by hemospectrum, and he’s the only one who cared for that besides Eridan), Terezi logs in briefly to whine about Vriska being droopy of all things. Even when plundering, or reveling in some sort of victory, she isn’t fully there. Terezi isn’t fully there either and you know it, but you don’t say anything.  
You spend quite some time wrapped up by Eridan now. The others, you didn’t know so well. Maybe Vriska trolled you quite frequently, and you used to hear Eridan black-gush about her when they were kismesises, but not so much now. Terezi, you hadn’t grown so close so fast.  
But at least, you know Eridan is there. He’s muscle and scar tissue, mornings of spar after spar and tactics discourses while you wait for wounds to heal, a surprisingly warm spot for when you don the last gown you got and he wraps you up in his cape because honestly, their atelier had forgotten you were a seadweller and the water is cold.  
He’s warm, he’s there and you think you maybe now know why he wanted you so bad before.  
\----  
“Wake up everyone!”  
That’s Terezi, hollering at you via Pesterchum. You’re droopy, still clinging to Eridan and you swear he’s lisping when he slurs at the computer client to shut the fuck up and crawl up the stupid wriggler hole from where it came. He returns to sleep easily after that, slow caresses down your back and weirdly mindful of where you still had a bruise or two.  
He normally doesn’t do that, choosing to show you where you were down on defense, or what to do when the attacks are energy based. You don’t know if she’s a psionic Fef, Eridan would mumble, and while she would be no Sol, you can’t be too careful.  
For now, he strokes you gently and slurs a couple swears when Terezi howls again, demanding the motherfucking clown show his face again, or Vriska get up and raid someone, or Equius sweat or Eridan make Mother Grub awful passes at Feferi. Who she knows is awake, thanks very much, now do something with that ‘frond’ of yours.  
You’ll have to face her justice later, for leaving her making a racket in the chat alone, but for now you doze, caught up in the image of a fight against an Empress who looks so much like you, but with a pile of bodies sprawled out before her. Uncannily un-fuchsia blooded, so many, from Karkat with his blood painted all over him to Eridan severed at the waist and Sollux crying bloody golden tears.  
“Peixes stop dreaming and wake up! We’re still here dammit!”  
Of course Terezi is. You didn’t really notice the body wrapped up in dragonscale.  
\----  
Terezi is next, and all reports say she was the best legislacerator Alternia had seen for a long (unspecified) time. It earns her a pretty interesting monument, and Vriska attends again in battle finery.  
It’s something ludicrously similar to the God Tier outfit you saw before. Done by much less skilled hands, and Vriska wore a long coat over that, but the idea was there. She says it’s something between her and her sister. Terezi, she means.  
Again, she rolls die after die.  
And when the time comes, for the last roll near her grave, Vriska takes good aim, focuses and looks for a moment as if she’s drawing luck.  
A gleaming cobalt guillotine appears next to the monument, and stays there. Vriska doesn’t pick up the die, and just mumbles that she better hear of executions there soon, princess, Terezi would’ve liked that and so would she.  
“Now go get to your throne, I didn’t go around waiting all this time to return to the Condesce.”  
She says so rolling the dice again, pricking her palms with the sharp edges and you nod in answer from somewhere near Eridan’s chest, his pulse in your ears and his cape wrapping you up like a faint embrace.  
\----  
By the time you see the lone Scourge Sister (she’s kept the title, fitting for someone with all other relations dead), she looks different.  
Wears a pair of red glasses, a side broken to show off her vision eightfold. At times, a sweeping skirt, also red. All of the time, she grins and she swaggers and she gives any of her ‘prisoners’ a fair trial, going through all their crimes in neat order before doling out her favorite sentence.  
It’s not the only one, and seafaring brownbloods tend to live long to kiss shore again. But she rarely spares those she won’t keep as indentured crew, and Vriska will ignore you if you try to make her change her ways. She’s the captain of her vessel, and you of yours.  
But you do assign her a fixed amount of people she has to deliver safely, to one of your fleet or the land. And Vriska holds herself to the letter, saying no legislacerator (or sister of one) will be so rule breaking…  
(While you’re watching. And you weren’t all seeing back then).  
\----  
You hear of Vriska as a figure of legend. A lone gamblignant, the Marquise returned, the terror of the oceans. You’ve heard that she has a dragon blowing the wind for her sails, and that all her opponents find themselves dried out once they perish.  
You hear of her, and of Eridan grumbling that he’d like her as a kismesis again for a while, and his pulse still beating against your ear. And you ask if she’ll carry you to your grand battle, or near enough.  
“Feferi, I’ve been wanting a thrill like that for sweeps. So what’s the royal escort, me and Eridan?”  
It couldn’t be anyone else, Equius becoming irrevocably bound to his empire of machines in his hive and everyone else bound to land or dead.  
“Fair enough. I’ll bet I can outrun his vessel still, you just watch.”  
\----  
The fight is hellish, and you don’t even know how that jab didn’t sever your entire arm. How that tine only tore your face but didn’t kill you, how you have a gut wound but the type that heals over ages rather than kills so artfully slowly. Maybe it’s just whatever Life powers you still have, taking care of you because you can’t channel them anywhere with precision.  
You’re gorgeously grotesque limping out, the body of your predecessor slung over your shoulders and your trident. Kanaya’s raiment was made to last this out, and the Tyrian blood seeping through the fabric is amazingly hidden or absorbed by torn protecting ribbing.  
With care, you lift her body over the railing- she was tall, with hair like Gl’bgolyth’s tentacles that still bind and wrap your wounds to pain- and disentangle yourself. No wincing, you aren’t showing wounds or weakness now. There might be other heiresses around, supporters watching you from your perch.  
You relieve the other from her crown, her mighty weapon. The rest you don’t keep, for seadwellers to find and keep as they will. But the signs of your office you need, and those are the only remnants you intend to keep anyways.  
And then you drop her over the edge, the sea swallowing her like many others like her. The place falls quiet, waves appeased by Tyrian blood and magic, lifeblood spreading holy to wash against ships in the vicinity and sands afar.  
Somehow, you hear your present allies holler and revel in your victory.  
\----  
“So long live Her Imperial Radiance, right? I’m still your only ex-God Tier, just so you remember, Peixes.”  
“And she’s your Empress-“  
“Eridan, never said Life girls don’t have their tricks. Chill. Anyways, I think she should get a coronation gift, from her most prized opponent and ally.” Vriska always had all irons in the fire, or so she’d told you, and that’s why she’s both nemesis and benefactor. Just in case she’s called to be either, or just in case either seems more productive.  
She hands you a set of notebooks.  
“Found them in a journey. More like, Kanaya found the rest, I had one. Terezi made sure they were authentic. See if some of them are like us, will you?”  
The symbols inscribed in some are nostalgic, down to the colors. The one with Vriska’s is more dog-eared, as is the one with Terezi’s. But you find them wonderful anyways, since it’s pirate loot and you know they don’t part with it easily.  
“And just because… here. My dice. They’ll bring you luck, not that you need it. Or can get it, since…” Deep breath, Vriska grinning madly “it’s aaaaaaaall mine!”  
\----  
Luck was all hers, but time wasn’t.  
That, you figure out once a crewmember of hers- she’d taken to sparing some, if they proved amusing enough, when they are over her quota- reports her absent and then dead. Vriska had sworn to your side once you asked her, with all the caveats for freedom the spidery girl could think up of and some more on the side.  
Eridan calls on Equius. Uses your authority to command him to come, as he’s the only one besides them and he’s expected to pay courtesy to the most recent fallen.  
“She’s blueblooded, come here. Imperial command even, or I’ll send in… Fef, quick, lend me a detachment to-“  
“Eridan, tell him I command him, as Empress and Radiance, to assist. And no, you’re not getting any units again.”  
“Zahhak, you heard that?”  
Some more arguing, threats and capitulations later, you have him standing by your side as you contemplate the weird sight of Vriska in a gown.  
You can tell this was Kanaya’s doing, same as the Scalemate standing sentry atop the bedpost was Terezi’s. A note rests in her hands, and you’ll read it later, maybe. When she isn’t quiet and tranquil instead of tempestuous and a firebrand with poison smiles. She won’t wake up, but you can have her in memory, can have her in near-life.  
You reassign all her crew to your fleet, taking care to keep as many together as possible. Vriska’s Marquise was the swiftest and most deadly vessel to your disposal that didn’t have a psionic powering it. You’d do well to emulate it, to remove the yellowbloods from that charge.  
And then you decommission the ship, sending it up in blazing light. It’s a corpse party fit for the girl with all the plans, you think, and it’s not as if she would’ve shared her bounty with those of your reign.  
You keep the dice, in your throne room so everyone sees just who carries Lady Luck’s favor. Vriska’s fame is at least well in your service now.  
And you guess you do miss how the living woman would’ve managed to make you rue that at times.  
\----  
Your plan to stop having psionics slaves to the ship.  
They’re still necessary, you admit. To get to the Condesce, you had needed to wait to fix Vriska’s vessel with about three of them, since even with your life powers you couldn’t bear to have a yellowblood on the verge of collapse because of them powering you through space. They aren’t all as you remember- most of them had simple, large gold eyes, and only one had a bit of a lisp once, when a captain in your service smacked him so hard he bounced off the wall and broke a tooth- but maybe that’s why you’ll always panic. And why Eridan will always say you’re dumb for trying to help so many, since it can’t bring anyone back. It can’t make their lives longer, it can’t stop them from being blind in old age or useless when the wiring lashing them upright is removed. You’re accustomed to Eridan griping about this though.  
You’ve had the talks. You’ve gotten his ship refitted to your royal standards, because it’s your main vessel and you can take the battleship if he disagrees. You’ve argued, screamed, even jumped at him trident in hand- not hurt him, same as he didn’t even retrieve his weapon from the specibus. Couldn’t bear it this time around, Eridan says.  
At least, he’s taken this latest act of yours more gracefully. Eridan set you up with Equius, since he’s the only one either of you knows who can make metal prosthetics with any finesse. And as an Empress, you have all the money you could want, Fef, and the lowbloods would like paying for this. Yellows at the very least, it’s theirs you’re helping.  
You take them out from the hulls, and refit them with what they miss. The wiring is draining, and often grafts itself onto the limbs, or faces, of its captives. Those you can save, you do so; those with too much compromise you cull before release. Some of them choose to remain with whatever ship was theirs, or to follow the captain under which they served. Some returned to whatever they had, or set off to see what was waiting for them. The really young though- gifted psionics from very near the homeworld, or those from further away like you were who were brought in as adolescents- you tend to bring in under your care.  
Eridan taught some to dance, claiming that if they are using royal resources, they might as well be graceful. You’ve refused to make servants out of them, unless they expressly ask to and you discourage that. So he settled for aesthetic pleasure, and has them play at war with beautiful choreographies or at least have more than lumbering steps with their metal limbs.  
Some of them resent you, you were too late, and who knows what they left back in their hives. You don’t think who. Some of them are still wary of you, your bright magenta blood and how you do look melancholy at their psychic magic but don’t ask them to guide your path.  
And some cling to the train of your dresses and pull on Eridan’s scarf and put on fake, short-lived lisps between giggles, because their queen is so dumb. So nice, and dumb, Alternia is still a bloody nation and your love won’t heal all.  
But they believe in you, they admit, Feferi, Radiance, we do think you might do it. You got the dance master to not cull most in a week, you got us out of the ships, you don’t cull as many of us. We hear, we hear and you do.  
\----  
When the production of the prosthesis begins to slow down, you know something is happening to Equius.  
Last time, it was just a relapse into the drowsiness that had taken him in after Nepeta. The time before, he’d gotten ill and had to remain in the recuperacoon for long stretches of time. The time before, he’d had to graduate his apprentices- you’d commanded him (at his request) to take some in, to preserve the knowledge. Yes, you had others to do this job besides Equius, but he’s the one behind your most delicate project.  
This time, it’s serious. He’s sent his youngest (last, he’s getting too old for this, he says) to court. A greenblood, who like most of his ilk, looks feral despite his extended periods of time dealing with machinery rather than the wilds. The apprenticeships are long distance, as you have figured out, with grading and lessons imparted online. Trolls still can’t handle closeness too much, except when you can get your fins on them. But the apprentice looks worried enough, fidgeting with the ears on the pelt perched atop curvy deer-like horns. Eyes darting and trying to read through the paper whatever Mentor Zahhak (as you heard Equius insisted on his apprentices’ address) was saying to you.  
You don’t like it. You dismiss the greenblood, who scampers out and clambers atop a mechanic bird to soar back to wherever he came from. You rush through halls- mercifully your protégés aren’t there, you don’t wish to deal with them now- and end up in your quarters.  
Equius isn’t allowed to leave, not now. You’ve kept him close, you’ve watched the time, you’ve given him a purpose, he shouldn’t be dying. You’re or you were Feferi the Witch of Life. You’ve kept Eridan from aging- at least, he looks not a day over five hundred sweeps- you should’ve been able to secure one more.  
But at least, you got a warning this time. You got the time to summon all his past apprentices- they’re mostly high castes, but the greenbloods have an amazing representation, considering who picked them- and begin to redo the commission on prosthetics and keep your project going. You got the time to summon Equius and command him (again, his quirk and you can’t believe he’s kept it even under your rule) to keep himself in as good health as he finds possible.  
And you have the time to find yourself for longer wrapped up in Eridan’s cape and arms, a pulse in your ears and his gruff voice murmuring something about your lowbloods making a mess of the palace again and how he’s sorry. He’s sorry, he’s there and he’s tracing a little circle in the middle of your back, behind your lungs. Kissing you between your horns, like Sollux would do so long before and it’s not the same, but it’s fine.  
It’s not the paleness you once had, and it isn’t fully flushed that you see, but it’s something and you hold on to it. You have to.  
\----  
Around that time, you begin getting challengers.  
And maybe now you realize, you started this a tad too old. All the newcomers are young females, armed not even to their teeth and what, thirteen sweeps? Maybe thirty? You don’t know, you haven’t asked and hell, it’s not like you look that old either, it’s hard to know.  
You don’t ask them their ages. Sometimes, you get their names, from a couple who chose to formally address you before launching a trident or a shot or a dagger or whatever they had. Most of the time, you get it from the crowds gathered outside, or the couple choice guards you have out front who do ask her. There are times you don’t even have a name, and there’s no crowd- that girl was a straggler, although she had experience and a weapon you did keep- but it gathers, soon enough. Everyone wants to see Tyrian blood paint the marble and seashell grounds, sometimes even you.  
You don’t feel too challenged, most of the time. Eridan has kept your battle skills sharp; you’ve touched up on tactics of your own accord.  
You once had Vriska cat-calling ‘c’mon Fef-flurry, hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me hit me, bet you can’t’ over and over, the sea roiling beneath you and her manipulating all odds in her favor.  
You once had Nepeta giving you pointers, because she was an experienced hunter and of course she’d know to hunt something as dangerous as she was. Nepeta taught you stealth, or at least surprise attacks, and you’d seen many a young woman slain by surprise, with not even a final glub.  
You had once drifted among the horrorterrors, listening to their eldritch tricks, and your lusus had even given you some ancestral knowledge on taking down a foe.  
And yes, you’d fought the Black King, you’d reaped hell in Skaia, you’d seen more bloodshed than most of your challengers had seen pooled together.  
\----  
You still get scars.  
There’s one on your chest, and you know it’s from the game. You know it, even if there’s a vague memory there, from touches and sleepy mumbles. Sollux used to wave you away from the subject, Eridan endlessly apologizes when you wake up still wrapped in him.  
There’s one down one leg, from a girl who surprised you by not appearing alone. She was flanked by a pair of violets, who you called out for guards to dispatch. The girl had caught you with a kukri with a last slice, done in anger because of all things, she chose to help her allies rather than face you while you were distracted.  
There’s one on your left shoulder, from a lance wielded by another dead heiress, and that one had taken your own life magic to mend, a deep hole and a line of fuchsia down your back.  
There’s a coil on your other leg, from a whip, there are three holes on your side long-healed from a trident, there’s a bite-mark on your neck that stubbornly remains there (from Kanaya, originally, but you let your opposition say it was from a pair of needles).  
There’s one at the side of your eye, from when you got blasted with a thin psionic beam. That girl had managed to befriend a gold-blooded troll, even brought him along, and you actually even wasted a breath calling out for Sollux and treason before the guards caught her aid and you caught her through the gut, ripping out her gills.  
At least, now you know that you’ve changed the world beyond your friends, with that show of teamwork.  
\----  
You throw out most challengers from one of your highest balconies, one that faces the sea but is clearly visible from any shore. Most of them don some finery that will sink them easily, but you let most of them keep their heavy weapons anyways. Those who won’t sink, you give them a funerary dress that will.  
For the girl who came with the yellowblood ally, you give two and throw them together into the sea. Eridan reprimands you later, but you say that both of them got to fight you.  
He hides the scar in your face with a finger, and says that you’ll dye the sea yellow at this rate. But you don’t mind, it would be nice to see, it would…  
“It’s custom, Eridan, and if you want to fish up the body go do it yourself.”  
\----  
He doesn’t, but he tried.  
Eridan swaggers- or at least he used to. Now it’s less of a graceful movement, angles a bit stuttered and you don’t remember when he began to carry a tall cane that morphs into his crosshairs, but he does use one now. His eyesight has gotten worse too, but that’s old news- when you were much younger, you used to swim circles around him with your glasses and have him argue that he really can’t see you- but this level is new.  
His hair is more dark grey than black, his eyes are now fully violet and while you love them so much now, you miss the familiar golden shade they were. He’s taller, he’s leaner- and that worries you, when you think of it, a palace isn’t exactly a place to slim.  
And now, when his gait is less elegant and he leans so far over the railings to peer at the sea’s surface-  
“Eridan, let it go. Some lusus probably needs it.”  
He doesn’t exactly turn back- he’s still too stubborn to do so- but he mumbles something, about you making him go so soft. So tranquil- and there he goes, exaggerating again, he’s a sea rover at heart and he still drifts with you from conquer to conquer being your attacking arm- but he stops, for now. Your arms around him, and both of you looking out at sea.  
\----  
He falls sick, one day.  
Much like once Sollux did. One day he broke down into coughs, the next it was a bout of fever and not really complaining when you wrapped his arms around you (Sollux managed to complain even then, but mostly because he said you were going to get his eyes with those horns of yours, Fef, and then I’ll shock your long hair into a cloud).  
And then he just couldn’t really leave the large recuperacoon you shared between the two of you, but he could push you aside a bit and sulk.  
He falls sick, and you worry, asking him constantly and trying to tackle medicine. Trolls aren’t really given to be healers, and aside from first aid you’re at a loss. Kanaya taught you some things, before she passed away, pirate tricks to cure, although it works different foe sea- and land-dwellers.  
Eridan tells you he has some books on that somewhere, and between you reading and concocting liquids (with some helps from the yellowbloods still hanging around, there always are some and you can always use with extra hands same as they can use extra medicine), he heals.  
(Sollux didn’t, not entirely, a cough followed him to the end and you hope this time you get it right.)  
\----  
From the books you learn that you don’t know your own lifespan.  
No one knows, not really. Tyrians only ever die by battle in recorded history and datalogs and anything you have. It’s made your lifespan very variable, and the lack of a sizeable population of fuchsia-blooded trolls has made you unfit for study.  
It’s been six hundred sweeps for you, roughly speaking, and while you’re not in exactly prime shape- you’ve scars, you’ve died even (a lifetime, a game ago)…  
Eridan will be the next to go, this you know.  
You know it, and you look at the number and then you curse, you cry or you wish you do. An Empress doesn’t cry, much less over her… her…  
You don’t cry over Eridan’s books, much like you didn’t have a breakdown over the drying husks of Sollux’s beehive computers or Vriska’s sinking battleship. You don’t cry now, you won’t.  
You just return to him and throw your arms around his shoulders. He winces- “Fef, you shouldn’t be doing that ‘ere, we’re in public”- oh, a couple of your yellowbloods, traipsing around the castles. You don’t know what they’re doing really, but you don’t care now.  
“Glub that.”  
He has no troubles with that command, shutting his eyes and holding you close enough to feel his pulse- slower now, you’ve checked before and it’s slower- and the rise and fall of breaths.  
\----  
He moves a lot less now.  
He’s like Sollux was at the end, now that you think about it, sedate and still, raging verbally about much the same things they did before. Eridan isn’t fully blind, not like Sollux was, but if you take his glasses it’s much the same thing and both of them prefer it when you narrate the surroundings anyways.  
Sollux once said it made everything seem a bit less like ‘not even worth a fuck’s fuck’, and that it was a method of ‘seeing’ much more preferable to Terezi’s. Or his using of psionic energy to sense his surroundings, which you knew he could do after he dropped the pair of goggles you’d lent him.  
Eridan doesn’t say much. Rather, he wraps you in his coat and his arms, hisses at the yellowbloods when they get near. You still complain to him about that, although you did relent and ask them to steer clear of him. Only for a while longer, you say and it hurts.  
An older one tells you that it’s a while longer than most of them live, at any rate, and that your matesprit (he isn’t…is… it was someone else too) can learn to can it, royal or not.  
At times, he sings a sea shanty, or tells you of bickers past- most of them with Sollux, you realize, but some are with Vriska or Karkat or his failed attempts to teach Kanaya to hate real black and caliginous. He’s taught you a couple, he’s asked you to sing-  
Sollux did so once too, and said never again. Jokes about Gl’bgolyth being the only thing to stand your singing were made, and only because she had the same psychically atrocious voice. Eridan likes it though, says it’s a cultured and refined sea-dweller thing.  
“But you kind of lisp them a little Fef, it ain’t sung with perfect diction, meant to be sung a bit inebriated. You’re better than that though, so lisp it is.”  
You end up overdoing it next time, to cackles present and ghostly.  
(‘Oh gog Fef, I don’t sound half as bad.’  
‘Yes you do Sol.’  
‘Okay, I do, I sound like a bag of lisping slitherbeasts because fuck the game and fuck the reset and fuck literally everything. And now you shut up and say now correctly, Eridan.’  
‘Glub you-‘)  
\----  
Eridan fades away slowly after that. Same as you do from the throne room, when there are no tyrian daughters awaiting their death.  
When it looks final, you just order the guards to keep them as far away from the castle as possible. And you’ll know if they don’t- you sleep with your two-ended trident these days. You’ve slain a couple of guards who let a subversive young fuchsia in too, same as you did the girl with two crescent-edged daggers.  
You don’t want to miss it when it happens. Not like it happened with Sollux, cold arms around you growing colder.  
“Eridan?”  
“Yeah Fef?”  
“Please don’t let go”- you’ve had this conversation before, once, or maybe twice. Rocked by him and his voice thrumming through your ribcage.  
“I’ll never let you go Fef,” and that’s normal. That’s where it ends, with him swaying slightly and tightening his grip a little.  
“Even when I die.”  
Appending that is necessary.  
\----  
He holds his promise, and you stay awake for long after he closes his eyes for the last time. Heartbeat pacing slower before a quiet cease, the rustle of breaths growing mute and then a full stop.  
You hold him a traditional funeral of sorts, the one for consorts, and the only difference from the first one you held is the quality of the raft bearing Eridan’s body. And you wear his cape, letting it float behind you as he sinks.  
The sea is now both your boys- they always will be the boys in your mind, when hemospectrum didn’t matter and neither did sweeps- and you’re on the verge of laughter and tears.  
So much like Sollux to have things in twos.  
\----  
The cape nearly kills you once, when the next challenger grabs it and yanks and nearly gets your chest before you run her through, neck punctured in three places and her hand dropping the weapon.  
You don’t take it off though. When it frays beyond repair, you will. Same as you will take off the two-tone glasses you had made, pinning your hair back. It makes for a better crown than the overly elaborate thing your predecessor had, although tradition insisted you kept it.  
You’ve kept a lot of things.  
A long list of chat tags, from days gone past- and look, even the humans’ are still there, even if those checked out long before loneliness caught up with you and the people you could’ve asked about them left. The dresses, the goggles, the unusable computers and robot parts and a ship’s model and a cape and a bunch of symbols.  
The last, you make for Alternia to keep. You inscribe them in the stars, all the way from Aradia’s to your own, in the order you have them listed as.  
Now it’s the sea and the stars that hold those dear to you, and now you have a proper set of two.  
That’s okay.  
\----  
A long time passes, heiresses apparent come and go.  
Your empire grows peaceful.  
You’ve changed yellowbloods at least twice, and you’ve had your fair share of mutants share room with you. You’ve told them of a leader there once was, of scarlet blood. And no, it wasn’t rust. You checked, but you don’t say how. You say he told you, in strict confidence until he died. You’ve made the threshecutioners a mixed force, you’ve made the cavalreapers get a technical section and proper beastmasters rather than enslaving others to take care of the mounts.  
You’ve seen so many faces, and you’ve gone through all the chat logs you had, from the first clumsy attempts at befriending anyone to the last chats with Eridan (from one side of your palace to the other, you check, from when he was ‘unwilling, not unable’ to walk the distance). At times, you’ve confused a face- someone you saw in a dreambubble once, a friend you had in the meteor.  
It’s when you see, of all people, the other Serket girl that it clicks.  
You dispose of all heiresses. You wait; you calmly say that you, Her Imperial Radiance Feferi Peixes accept their challenge before you offer them dead to the seas.  
You hear a young woman come forwards and proudly declare that ‘Meenah Peixes will be busting your cap’, trident primed to throw.  
You look up, at the girl with braids whipping wildly and a daredevil grin. She’s something not new, but not like the old regime you left behind. You remember her having a team, for one second, before you’re dodging and ducking forwards.  
You smile, and you fight.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N. – so, sup AO3.  
> First fic here, though not the first time I write, and well… heck, who’d have thought I’d write this character/the ships above (protip: not me). Influence from:  
>  -that one pic on sadstuck with the trolls dying off via hemospectrum  
>  -a friend who got me liking Eridan  
>  -and saccharineSylph who got me into all permutations of EriFefSol without knowing of my existence.  
> If I went and butchered everyone/the timeline/anything, my deepest apologies! It probably happened somewhere, so yeah... and welp, also nothing belongs to me. God knows I'm nowhere near creative enough to do something like Homestuck.  
> If you liked it, *hug* and very many thanks!  
> Well, hope to be seeing you around sometime!  
> -spiralSeeker


End file.
